


by any other name

by pipistrelle



Series: there is a season [5]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipistrelle/pseuds/pipistrelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A discussion of nicknames and reputations. Little flufflet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by any other name

**Author's Note:**

> This is set before the Circle of Magic series. Based on the prompt "allow".

Lark blinked and rubbed at her eyes as she stepped from bright afternoon sunlight into the gloom of the Water temple storerooms. The sharp scents of willowbark and fennel nearly overwhelmed her, and it was hard to tell whether her eyes were watering from the dust, the sudden lack of light, or the bitter smell.

 The storerooms, little more a warren of flimsy subdivisions in the dimly-lit vault behind the temple proper, had defeated many a novice. Lark had no trouble finding her way; she only had to follow the shouting.

 She found Rosethorn and a young Water dedicate in the center of a ring of stacked jars labelled for fever and protection -- all of which had, as Rosethorn was explaining at great length, lost their potency two years ago and now had to be completely remade. To judge from the color of the Water boy’s face and the glazed look in his eyes, she’d been explaining for quite a while.

 Lark let out a polite cough. Rosethorn broke off mid-insult and turned to peer at her in surprise, as though she were a flower that had sprouted in the vegetable patch. “Lark? What are you doing here?”

 “It’s nearly time for supper,” Lark answered. “I was going past, and I thought I might walk you home -- if you’ve finished your work here, that is,” she added, sparing a glance for the Water dedicate, who looked back at her with near-tearful gratitude.

 “Hmm. No use starting this tonight, I suppose,” Rosethorn sighed, gesturing to the jars. “It’ll be weeks of work at least. What are _you_ all gaping at?”

 A half-dozen novices and dedicates had peered around partitions from neighboring storerooms, lulled by the sudden lack of shouting into thinking that it was safe to be seen. They quailed under Rosethorn’s glare, offering only squeaks in response to her demand.

 “Come on,” Lark sighed, propelling Rosethorn out of the building with one hand on her elbow. To the frightened Water folk she said, “Please, continue with your work. Rosie didn’t mean to distract you, I’m sure.”

 “Distract them,” Rosethorn muttered as they emerged into the golden afternoon. “A passing _breeze_ would distract them!”

 “I know,” Lark said, soothing and sympathetic, taking Rosethorn’s arm and steering her towards Discipline.

 The touch of sunlight, the trees shading the path, and Lark’s nearness were doing their work; already the tension was draining out of Rosethorn, and by the time she turned her ire on Lark it was mostly bluff. “And you,” she snapped. “Must you do that in public?”

 “Do what? Call you Rosie?” Lark smiled. “I like it. You don’t let anyone forget about your thorns for so much as a minute, but they could do with reminding that there’s a flower in you, too.”

 Rosethorn raised an eyebrow, skeptical as she always was of Lark’s more sentimental musings. “Why should I care about what those nitwits remember?”

 “You don’t have to,” Lark replied. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t.”

 “But I thought it was you who said I was worth loving, ‘thorns and all’.”

 “I love every prickle and petal of you,” Lark said firmly. “That’s why it frustrates me that everyone we live with thinks you’re some sort of terrifying dragon-woman.”

 It was meant as a gentle rebuke, but Rosethorn’s lips quirked into a smile that was entirely too self-satisfied. “How else would I get them to listen?”

 “I could make a few suggestions,” Lark said drily, “but I haven’t figured out how to get _you_ to listen.”

 Rosethorn let out a bark of laughter. Like so much else about her, her laugh was a sharp thing, and rough, but surprisingly lovely; Lark remembered fondly the day, nearly two years ago now, when she'd first heard that sound and vowed on the spot to hear it again as often as she possibly could.

 She took Rosethorn’s hand and kissed the backs of her fingers. “If you truly don’t like me calling you Rosie, I’ll stop,” she said. “It’s only fair.”

 Rosethorn shrugged. “I suppose it won’t do too much damage to my reputation, if it’s just you,” she said. Her eyes flashed fire as she added, “Though if anyone else tries it, they can look forward to a bright future of fertilizing my lilacs -- it’ll give them the chance to be useful for once in their lives.”

Lark smiled despite herself. “Don't worry, I’ll be sure to warn them.”


End file.
